His Last Good Shirt

[Verse 1]
The Kenmore dryer’s window is a circle of blue heat.
Tuesday, quarter-past-nine, she’s folding a crisp pleat.
That fluorescent hum is the only sound in here,
And the smell of Blue Ridge Breeze, sharp and clear.
She smooths the cotton out like she’s calming down a child,
With a careful little smile that’s halfway to wild.

[Chorus]
That ain’t how you fold a man’s collar
When you’re plannin’ on stayin’ the night.
That’s a goodbye crease, honey, sharp and clean,
Folded under the laundry-mat light.

[Verse 2]
She pulled a paper stub from his worn-out Wrangler jeans,
A ticket to a movie, one of them violent scenes.
She didn't tear it up, just tucked it in her coat,
A tiny piece of proof caught in her throat.
There’s a map of West Virginia drawn in pen on her left hand,
A little getaway route that he won't understand.

[Chorus]
That ain’t how you fold a man’s collar
When you’re plannin’ on stayin’ the night.
That’s a goodbye crease, honey, sharp and clean,
Folded under the laundry-mat light.

[Bridge]
Just the drum of the spin cycle, a button on the glass.
“That’s the last time,” she mouths, watching the colors pass.

[Chorus]
That ain’t how you fold a man’s collar
When you’re plannin’ on stayin’ the night.
That’s a goodbye crease, honey, sharp and clean…

[Outro]
Folded under the laundry-mat light.